Back in the chalet, Priscilla and I each ate our dinner —hers of the finest quality refrigerated dog food that looks like human grade eats—and mine, a lovely chicken carbonara pasta for one. In my coziest plush pajamas, we made our way to the bedroom, where normally, I would read for a few hours in my winding down time. But no reading on this trip, unless it was the Bible, which I enjoyed for thirty minutes before turning off the lights and falling asleep.
*****
I awoke to a freezing house. Priscilla was pressed up against me under the covers, body burrowed into the blankets. Slipping on a pair of thick socks and a heavy robe that was left for me next to the soaking tub, I went downstairs to investigate.
Finding the thermostat, I cranked it up to a toasty seventy degrees. I also turned on the gas fireplace to warm up the chalet faster, as I walked past the wood burning stove. I opened the latch—no wood inside, or I’d have lit that, too. I remembered seeing a stack of wood outside by the driveway. It was barely past dawn; I went back to bed, the warmth rising to the loft quickly.
We slept for two more hours. I never slept in at home; with work being early and running late into the evenings with books I brought home, I had never realized how hard on my sleeping pattern that was. The stacks of manuscripts that surrounded me were always looming over my head. Since I’d been free of them for 24 hours, I felt their power waning. They could wait. This trip was about me.
Getting out of bed, I slipped my feet into the sherpa slippers that I kicked off last night next to the king-size beauty sleep machine. Doing a few stretches, I felt great. The mattress was an upgrade to mine at home, and I considered slipping off the sheets to see what the make was when I felt another chill in the air. Throwing on my robe and tightening it, I reached for Priscilla, who let out a groan.
“Time to get up, sleepy head,” I said in a coo, but it didn’t work, as she let out the faintest growl when I went to move her. “Okay, up, Priscilla.” That worked, as she did know that command. “Let’s go potty outside. After that? You can sleep all day, if you want. Because mommy’s going skiing.” I looked out the window and felt the excitement in my bones. The snowstorm came through, and it absolutelydumpedovernight.
The walk from the chalet to the new gondola was as advertised; less than 100 yards. In my barely-worn black ski pants that made a delightfulswooshwith every step I took, black turtleneck and fitted white ski jacket, I felt cool. Stylish.Sleek.I was glad for it, as carrying my skis over my shoulder became cumbersome after about three steps.
The lines were miraculously short as I raced to ride the new gondola at the base of Sage Mountain. Peering over to the other chair lifts, the crowds were easily 2–3 times in size. Looking at the base map, I realized why: This gondola went to easier runs, whereas the lifts went to more challenging peaks for which I was more than pleased with. I was a good skier, but I enjoyed wide, groomed trails. I wasn’t trying to overdo anything on my first trip skiing in years.
The singles line meant that I got to cut even more people, since I didn’t care about riding with a particular group. I was on the second gondola of the morning, and the ride up was filled with chatter, excitement, and peering out the window as we crossed a deep canyon filled with snowy trees and off-piste trails. Six people in total were in the gondola, and I was sitting directly across from a man, but I couldn’t see anything definitive about his appearance. His goggles were down, and he was in head to toe black, other than a tiger face mask. The gondola slowed, as it usually did if someone needed extra time at the top, and the slightest movement of his hand revealed the skin on his wrist. In certain cultures, showing skin on the wrist would be considered scandalous. I smirked at the thought and was about to be bold enough to ask him about the mask when I was interrupted by someone in the gondola pointing out a moose.
“Look—right there! There’s ahugemomma moose,” one woman said.
“I hope I don’t run into her or her babies while I’m skiing,” another woman said, with an undertone of fear in her voice. I hadn’t thought of that possibility, and too, felt worried.
“Just stay on the trails and you’ll be fine. No off-roading, okay?” The man next to her put his arm around her for reassurance. She nodded.
“Are you watching the Winter Games this weekend?” a man asked the couple in front of them, as they still kept their gaze on the tall, overpowering animal.
“Just the skijoring,” the man said, taking his arm back from around the woman's shoulders as we neared the top. “I have never seen it before, and I’m from a rodeo town. But we never get enough snow to do anything remotely as cool.”
“Yeah, same. That Ford Prescott is something else.” The conversationalist next to me let out a low whistle after he spoke, emphasizing on Ford’s name.
“And he’s not bad to look at, either,” the woman next to me spoke out, and the other woman laughed in agreement, her partner giving her a look. “What? I’m married, but I’m notdead,”she smirked. Ford Prescott… Was that the handsome cowboy I saw on the billboard, with a steely jaw, chin dimple, and yesterday’s stubble? Maybe I would have to watch the games after all.
When we reached the top, I felt my ears pop with the change in elevation. I was the first to get out, and since thegondola never stops moving, I felt the pressure of retrieving my skis from their holder as quickly as possible, as I skirted around it in my ski boots. A small ice patch nearly took me down in the process, but I caught myself and walked out of the way so I could put them on and analyze my route.
Once I was out and in the place where everyone put their skis on, the man in the tiger mask flew past me on his powder skis. He was a very good skier, which was obvious.
Standing below the map was an older ski host, armed with a solo ski pole as his pointer, so he could advise people on which runs to take. He was at least a decade older than me, if not more, and I wasn’t even done putting on my skis yet when he struck up a conversation.
“Good morning. What kind of adventure are you seeking today?” His blue eyes sparkled as he spoke. There was a softness to him, a dad-vibe that I found endearing.
“A mid-level adventure, at least to start. I’m afraid the number of years I’ve been off skis are rivaling the years I have,” I said as I clicked into my skis, putting my poles under my arm and taking in the map. The options of ski runs were endless, with everything from family learning zones to triple blacks. I decided to be a little more specific. “I’d like to stick to groomers, ifpossible. I’m over the age of awareness; I’m not trying to ski moguls if I can help it.” He let out a laugh, nodding.
“Of course. I’m well past my mogul years, too. How about this route—” He pointed to a blue run that broke off into every which way. “Start out on ‘Shadow Dancer,’ then turn right into ‘Gimmicks,’ keep right as the trails merge with ‘Potato Chip,’ and then it's imperative you take the cat track right here—that will be immediately to your left—called ‘Snickering Kitty,’ and you take that run for just a moment before it opens up to the best, blue groomer we have, all the way back here. Otherwise, you’ll be heading for a double black mogul field called ‘Blackbeard’s Revenge.’”
“Shadow. . . Potato Chip. . . Kitty?” I mumbled, my head scrambling to remember the route. “Seriously, who names these runs?”
“Have fun!” he exclaimed before moving down the map to help another group of skiers who were scratching their heads at the map.
“Shadow, Potato Chip, Kitty.” I said it three more times as I pulled my goggles over my helmet, tightening everything in the back. The faintest clouds were in the sky as I looked over to the starting point, where the mountain sloped off just-so. Takinga huge gulp of fresh, alpine air, I felt rejuvenated. Free.Alive.“Thank you, Lord, for bringing me here. I pray for a fun time, safety, and only groomed runs.” Smiling, I took off on “Shadow Dancer,” slowly making a few wide turns before finding my ski legs and tightening my pattern in the freshly laid snow that sparkled in the sunlight. By the time I got to my first crossroads, I had forgotten the words I’d been repeating. I slowed, stopping in a fluid movement and spraying snow in the process.
“Hockey Puck, Gimmicks, or Ruffles?” I read the signs aloud; two of which were blue and the other, Ruffles, was snow covered, so I couldn’t see its rating. One was left, one was straight, and the other was right. I couldn’t for the life of me recall anything other than Potato Chip and Kitty. “Oh, Potato Chip—maybe he was speaking incode,”I said, shaking my head as I headed straight down on Ruffles. What could go wrong?
At the end of the run, that I had to take in full blown “pizza” formation—my legs were so wide, it looked like I was playing a school yard game of London Bridge—my limbs felt like gelatin. I was sore and tired as I dodged the moguls and did everything I could to keep control of my turns with a steep grade I wasn’t ready for. I wasn’t certain, but I had a feeling that it was the wrong run.
I managed to find a moderate cat track that looped down quite a bit of the mountain before reaching a cluster of blue runs and successfully avoided mogul fields. I ended up going back up the gondola three more times, as I couldn’t get enough of the amazing conditions. My turns down the mountain powder felt like frosting in a wedding cake. In the morning, its softness made it easier to warm up, and by mid-day, the snow had formed an upper crust from the cold that made my turns feel sharper with better execution. If it wasn’t for my bladder, my stomach, and my muscles alerting me that it was enough for the day, I would have stayed out here until the last chair.
Getting back to the chalet, Priscilla was thrilled to see me. It appeared her energy levels from being cooped up inside were finally recovering from her lazy day yesterday, and she was ready for some serious play time. If we were home, I would have taken her out to our covered dog area at the condos, but since we were here, and there was a foot and a half of snow outside, I ended up throwing a toy for her to fetch for nearly fifteen minutes before she had her fill.
